The clouds hang in the sunless sky like fluffy pink pillows.
The air is still between us. I smell you between the smells
of growing grass and blooming azaleas. You are curled up
holding my hand between yours. You can feel my little finger
move slowly along your stomach. Textures are teased out in
an exploration of tender territory. I lean forward and run my
tongue along the back of your neck, through gleaming hair
and salty skin. The still air between us suffers, squeezed
between shivering bodies. Your leg slowly slides along mine,
miming a language in movement. I let the light of dawn flow
across your freckled forehead and pool in your opening eyes.
I wait for the breathless breeze to surround us and then blow
through your hair. I bend over and touch your lips, soft like sin
and flecked with spots of red teeth marks. I close the gap with
my lips and lazy light struggles to escape their locked confines.
The careless cries of birds wash over our aroused senses. We
sink into seconds and stretch them along our sinuous spines.
Silently, dawn parts from us like a jilted lover. The yellow overseer
is riding in on her familiar coattails. The brittle business of another
day awaits his grim golden gaze. You leave too as morning moves
her mundane face on us. Fie! A perpetual interrupter of intimate
auroral moments is here yet again to erase the early spoils.